The Foretelling
by typedamon
Summary: Catherine knew from the start that Mary and Francis' reign would be trying and tumultuous. She predicted it when they were just children and since then, she had been right. Catherine/Henry drabble series.
1. The Foretelling

Full Summary: Catherine knew from the start that Mary and Francis' reign over their countries would be trying and tumultous. She predicted it when they were children, and since then she had been right. Oneshot.

I'll potentially be turning this into a drabble series - so if you're interested and have any requests of scenario's you'd like to see, give me a shout, keep checking back and I will see what I can do.

* * *

><p><strong>THE FORETELLING<strong>

The dark haired girl and the blonde boy play together by the lake. Their childish laughter is infectious; the entire castle hums with their exuberance and life.

She has found it quite wonderful to watch the transformation of her son. It's true that he had been startlingly frail, sickly even, for many years of his life... but when she, Mary, the young Scottish Queen had arrived in France just several weeks ago, it's as if Francis were born again. He has a new lease of life, a spring his step that Catherine Meddicci is envious of - for it was not she, his beloved mother, that gave him the driving force to get better, but small child with big pretty eyes and long dark hair.

Every night when she tucks Francis into bed, she is forced to listen to him recount tales of how _exciting _Mary is, of how positively _adventurous _her games are, how she had argued with Sebastian and pushed him out of the tree and made him cry, even though he was much bigger than she. Every night, Francis also tells his mother with serious, earnest eyes that he is going to marry that girl one day, whether he has his parents blessing or not.

Catherine just laughed and ruffled his curls, planting an affectionate kiss on his forehead before she swept from the room. But she did not leave the wing of the castle reserved for the children immediately. She paused outside Mary's room, oddly nervous though she would only be facing a door was open, just a thin tendril of light filtering through the crack. Slowly, Catherine approached, peering into the room that was still aglow with the bright yellow of the gas lamps that the girl had apparently lit herself. Catherine couldn't help but smile. The girl, even at her young age had proven to be resourceful many times.

Catherine straightened, a stern expression set stonily on her graceful features as she bustled through the doors. Mary's head lifted from her dolls, but she was not startled, nor was she concerned. It seemed, amazingly, that if anything she were only mildly irritated. Catherine felt a stirring of admiration in her heart. Brave, courageous, clever and resourceful... what a Queen she would make.

"It's pleasant, isn't it?" Her husband's voice lures her back to the present. Catherine does not even spare him a glance but remains quiet. He loves the sound of his voice far too much to not elaborate, even though there was no prompt. "Seeing them, playing together. Francis on his feet, exploring."

"Yes." Catherine says stiffly but honestly. "It is."

"I do believe," Henry continues, shuffling closer to Catherine. "That this Scottish Queen has inspired our son to try and get better himself."

For all his arrogance and overwhelming lack of modesty, Henry is still as insightful and observant as ever. Catherine gives him a sideways glance, watching as his perceptive eyes digest the scene of the children playing. "Apparently she pushed Bash out of tree two days ago."

A prickle of annoyance bristles Catherine. It is no secret that Henry favours his bastard son and the mistress he beds every night - he's even been kind enough to grant the boy, a child born out of wedlock of all the things, a nickname. Catherine wants to spit on the ground at the very mention of the child, but instead remains calmly aloof. "Oh really? What a shame."

"Catherine," Henry's voice is now sharp. He takes hold of her shoulders, twisting her so she is forced to look into his eyes, eyes that had once made her stomach flip and a blush flow woozily across her cheeks. Now, all she can give him his a frosty reception. "He is just a boy. You cannot blame him for my actions."

When she does not say a word, the King sighs and releases her shoulders. A moment of silent thought passes: Catherine, engrossed in images much more pleasant than the bastard child suriving the fall from the tree; Heny, dreaming of his Diane and her seductive feline eyes that await in a chalet to the east. Though Catherine and Henry's bed has been cold for many a year, it is undeniable that they are a formidable team when it comes to the day-to-day running of France. In fact, the country thrives under their rule.

"Do you think they will make good monarchs?" Henry asks suddenly, breaking the silence.

Catherine cocks her head to one side, carefully considering the question. "Already, Francis has strong sense of reason and he knows what is good for other people. The girl is strong-willed and determined, courageous and fearless. She knows what is right and what is wrong."

"So what is your verdict?" Henry presses, genuinely interested by Catherine's evaluation of the betrothed children.

_"I'm going to marry her one day, whether I have your blessing or not."_

_"Do you love my son, Mary?"_

_The girl looked up at Catherine with inquisitve, calm eyes. "Not yet, but I know that one day I will."_

"No," Catherine says eventually, her lips pursing grimly. "No I don't."

"Why not? You've just given bountiful reasons for precisely why they would be fit to take the throne." Henry responds, surprised by Catherine's verdict. "Surely they are only going to grow to be wiser."

"I know my son, Henry. I think I know enough of the girl as well to be sure that their hearts will grow also..." Catherine hesitates. A waterfall laughter swathes the grounds, childish and melodic. "They will fall in love, Henry. It will damage them. It will damage us. It will damage France. It will damage Scotland."

"They will have to be kept apart." Henry agrees.

Catherine looks away from his face and back towards the lake in time to see both the children running into the shallows. Water droplets encapsulate them as excitedly, they both begin to send mall tidal waves in each others directions.

It pains her to say it. She wants there to be hope for young love in such a perilous world.

Royals are entitled to a great many luxuries... but love is never one of them.

"Yes. She needs to go back to Scotland."


	2. A King and His Country

**((A/N: **I've decided to turn this into a drabble series following Henry and Catherine (mainly Catherine) through different periods and times in their lives. This is a little scene that sort of popped into my head today so I thought I'd just get it down and out - anything in particular you guys might like to see between Catherine and Henry? I have plenty of other bits and pieces planned but if you feel like there is something you really would like to see from me, give me a shout! I also apologise that this update is terribly short, but I thought that was an appropriate cut off point!))

**SCENE TWO: **A King and His Country

"For my birthday, we'll have a lavish celebration!" Catherine announces, her hands outstretched as she stands in the middle of the cavernous hall. She can see it now, all beautiful drapes and decorations, candles twinkling in artfully arranged displays, loud music and a buffet so huge and filled with exotic and masterful culinary creations that her mouth actually begins to water. Catherine spins on the spot, so invigorated by her dreams of the most spectacular birthday celebration France has ever seen that she forgets she is supposed to be angry with her husband.

He's sat in his throne, his chin resting in one hand, eyes glazed over in boredom. _That's_ when she remembers that she is not simply angry, but _furious._ He has gotten her pregnant, that lay-about whore that he keeps comfortably nestled in his bed chambers with her shiny dark her and pretty feline eyes. He isn't turning her away like he should, either. He's _housing_ her. Giving her financial backing, like she really is worthy of the French gold he must be lining her pockets with. Of course Henry is bored. He isn't concerned with anything that doesn't include Diane - a woman who would most certainly _not_ be receiving an invitation to Catherine's birthday festivities.

"So I suppose that means I can empty the treasury of every last penny and spend it how I wish," Catherine snipes, her lip curling.

"Yes, dear. Whatever you like." Henry answers vaguely. But then he stirs, his head snapping up sharply. "Wait, what did you just say?"

Catherine feels a glimmer of satisfaction that she is still able to startle him so easily. She doesn't bother to explain to him anything she has just said, but gives him a piercing glare before she turns her back on him, ready to stalk swiftly to her own private chambers. Since his infatuation with Diane had begun, Catherine had decided she didn't want to linger like a fool in the chambers meant for two, awaiting his return like a childish little girl. Instead, she had requested for her own private place, just like he had his. It had however surprised Henry when she had asked for a smaller area of a much more modest size. Granted, it was still decorated with luxuries and nick-knacks that she'd never need or even want to use, but it was not of her normal calibre. She liked big, ravenous things.

"Catherine, wait!" Henry's voice reverberates off the pillars. Sighing, she grinds to a halt. She can hear his footsteps echoing on the flagstones behind her, but all the same she taps her foot impatiently. "I don't wish for things to be this way between us."

His hands are resting lightly on her shoulders, his warm breath tickling her left ear as he leans closer to her face, ready to whisper something sultry. Peeved, she twists out of his grasp, eyeing him waspishly. "There really isn't any other way it can be between us," Catherine hisses. Again she is satisfied to see that he actually flinches. Whether it's because she has inflicted an emotional injury or simply wounded his pride by not succumbing to his seduction (he arrogantly believes every woman is infallible to his ridiculous murmurs) doesn't bother her at all. She has gotten a reaction of weakness from him. A show of vulnerability, no matter how fleeting, is enough to give her the upper-hand in the future. "You picked this fate for yourself when you took a loose harlot to your bed."

"_Don't_ talk about her in that way!" Henry snaps, firmly taking Catherine by the elbow and dragging her into the shadows behind a pillar, out of view of any nobles that may be lingering within the vicinity.

"How sweet, fighting the corner for your pregnant whore." Catherine says dryly, wrestling her arm out of the strong grip of his fingers. "In any case, Henry, I don't think we have anything further to discuss. I will be on my way now."

"Catherine, I want you to understand that I _do_ still care about you-"

"No you don't," she interjects, shrugging off the shimmer of sensitivity that she can see behind his eyes as just sexual frustration. "But I think it's lovely of you that you at least tried to tell me a pretty lie."

"I'm not claiming the boy as my own!" His voice rings through Catherine's head. She feels as if someone has clubbed her with a hard, metal instrument of some sort. The room is spinning as she tries to understand his reasoning behind the rejection of a child that everyone within the castle already knew was his. "He will not be a predecessor to the throne. That title will belong to our child, and our child alone."

The tirade that Catherine had been more ready than storm at her husband ceases before it even touches her lips. She has been rendered silent by the sudden announcement... but at least he has established why he had opted for the child to remain illegitimate. Catherine gives her husband an abrupt nod, her eyes frosty as she stalks out of the throne room and into the cool corridors of the castle. She is cursing herself, irritated that she had even allowed herself a second to believe that maybe, just _maybe, _Henry would have been considerate enough to do something out of the goodness of his heart for her.

But the love and passion that had existed between them had long since evaporated. Sex was for continuing the line, not for romance. Henry had fallen in love with another. Whilst initially, Catherine had despised the growing chasm between she and Henry, she realises that she has grown used to it. Love, passion, hatred... any fiery emotion can influence and alter decisions that should be made with a rational head. Rationality and intellect - two things it is vital for rulers to possess.

Henry is not in love with Catherine.

He is not even in love with Diane.

He is in love with his position and his title.

His only love is France.


End file.
